Cat dreams and Fox secrets

They sat in silence for a little while longer. Night crept in closer — cool and slightly damp, like the breath of the forest beyond the academy walls. The air smelled of mint, stone, and a faint trace of magic — the kind that seeped through everything, from the walls down to the very earth, permeating the academy like blood through a living body. Lio hunched forward slightly, hugging his shoulders. His jacket had long gone cold, and his emotions were only just beginning to dissipate, like steam from a teacup. But there was something else. He felt... strange. Not anxious. Not afraid. More like pressure. As if a hum was coming from deep within — not through his ears, but something internal. Almost like the pulse of an old artifact when you get too close: warm, steady, and enough to send shivers down your spine. He glanced sideways at Ray. Ray sat calmly, seemingly relaxed. He was smoking, exhaling thin streams of smoke into the night. But there was something odd about that calm. Too measured. As if he was deliberately staying still so as not to disturb something inside himself. Lio blinked and turned away again. "Residual phantom pressure... or those damn circles," he thought. "Too much for one day. My brain's inventing auras on its own now." He shivered. — "All right..." Lio muttered, standing up. — "Enough heroics in the fresh air. I can't feel my legs. Let's go to bed before this day decides to hit us with something else." He reached out to Ray, tugging on his sleeve. Ray hesitated only a second — then stood, smooth and silent. They returned to the room. The candle was burning low, flickering over the remains of chalk circles. The sparrow had tucked its head into its feathers and closed its eyes. Everything seemed as it was. Almost. Ray's gaze drifted across the wall, where a faint shimmer of a fading seal still lingered. Residual traces of his aura, hidden and fading. Lio didn't notice. He was already yawning, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair. — "Sleep. I'm dreaming about banishing spirits through the ventilation system. That means my brain's begging for a reboot." — "You should be dreaming of your defense textbook," Ray muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed. — "Don't jinx it," Lio replied, burrowing under the covers. — "If I start dreaming about Professor Nekra in pink pajamas, I'm crawling into your bed. Fair warning." — "Then I definitely won't sleep." — "Perfect. Someone's gotta keep watch." Silence. Only breathing. And a faint rustle, as if something soft brushed across the chalk line on the wall. Ray closed his eyes. And began to count, silently. To the point of stillness. To the moment when his aura would finally settle. So he could be just another first-year student again. Or at least look convincingly like one. But Lio was already asleep. And for all his craziness, he wasn't stupid. He had felt it. Even if he didn't understand. Yet. The night, with its deceptive calm, didn't last long for Lio. At first, everything was normal: warmth, quiet, a tightly pulled blanket, and the shadow of the sparrow on the pillow. He didn't fall asleep right away — something still nagged at him, itching beneath his sternum. Magical reflux, as he'd call it. And then... He was in a corridor. Empty. Too empty. Too long. The walls were breathing, as if holding their breath with him. The stone arches seemed alive, pulsing. Somewhere far off, bare footsteps echoed. Not his. He tried to turn back — but was met with the same wall. Then again. And again. Every turn led to a dead end. Every dead end whispered his name. — "Lio... Lio... Liiiiiio..." The voices were thin, hoarse, like they'd passed through ash. And they multiplied, overlapping, tangling, interrupting: — "You called us, Lio..." — "You drew the door, Lio..." — "You opened it, Lio..." — "Now you can't close it." He ran. The corridor began to move — not him. The corridor. Stretching, squeezing. The ceiling tilted, as if to crush him. The walls twitched in spasms, and from the cracks, an inky shadow oozed. Hands stretched out from it. Too many hands. And in each — eyes. They watched. — "Want more circles, Lio?.." — "Draw them on yourself. It'll be easier to pass..." — "You can't leave until you pass through us." He screamed. Shut his eyes. Ran. And woke up. Abruptly. As if surfacing from deep water. His heart pounded in his throat, his back soaked, hair clinging to his skin. It took a moment to realize where he was. His room. His blanket on the floor. Cold air prickled at exposed skin. The candle had long burned out. The sparrow perched on the nightstand, fluffed up, glaring at him reproachfully. Ray slept. Or so it seemed. Lio exhaled heavily and, without turning on the light, grabbed a water bottle from the windowsill. He drank almost half in one go. His hands trembled. His head throbbed. As if someone had knocked from the inside. And left a trace. Like the echo of foreign magic — too dense, too sticky. — "Screw those circles," he whispered. His voice cracked into a rasp. And he didn't notice the faint shadow flicker under the bed. Lio lay back down, but couldn't fall asleep for a long time. The feeling of unease wouldn't let go. The sparrow, as usual, settled near his head, occasionally ruffling its feathers like it, too, had nightmares. The candle's flame was long dead, and the room sank into a half-darkness where the corners seemed sharper than they should've been. Lio turned to the wall, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and was just starting to doze off — when something stirred under the bed. He froze. At first, he thought — mouse. Or maybe the sparrow had dropped crumbs, and something came for them. But... the sound was different. Slippery. Viscous. Soundless, but tangible. Then he felt the touch. Light. Barely there, just a brush of air against his ankle. Icy — like a finger trailing across his soul, not his skin. Exposed and unguarded. He jerked. And at that moment — a flash. Not of light, but of magic. Soft, muffled, like a pop of air — and the shadow under the bed recoiled, as if shocked. Something hissed in the corner and slithered away, vanishing into the floor. Lio yelped, scrambling upward, clutching the blanket — and, almost instinctively, launched himself toward Ray. Who, to be fair, had already cracked one eye open. — "...What..?" Ray mumbled sleepily, but immediately grew alert, sensing the strange disturbance in the air. Magic. A lingering trace of something not their own. — "It... it was there... it touched me!" Lio burst out, scrambling under Ray's blanket. Or rather — on top of Ray. Knees on his thigh, elbows on his chest, the sparrow tumbling onto Ray's shoulder with a protesting chirp. — "It was just a dream," Ray tried to say, but his eyes were already scanning the darkness. The faint trace of phantom contact still lingered. And here and there in the air, the remnants of that same shadow he'd driven off earlier on the balcony curled faintly. — "I'm telling you — it tried to grab me!" Lio hissed. — "Cold, slimy, and like — like it had eyes. And hands. Lots of hands. And I swear it whispered right in my ear! And-" — "Shh," Ray said, gently touching the back of Lio's hand. For a brief moment, a thin thread of protective magic flared between them — soft and warm, reacting to the swell of Ray's aura that hadn't completely faded since the balcony. The shadow under the bed was already gone. But it had left a tremor behind. And Lio felt it. He fell silent, suddenly. And looked at Ray again. — "You... did something, didn't you?" he whispered. Ray looked toward the bed, then back at him. Said nothing. Just closed his eyes and sighed. — "Just sleep. Morning will be... quieter." — "So that's a yes, huh?" Lio whispered, already wrapping himself in Ray's blanket like a cocoon. Ray said nothing again. But the faint ember of magic still flickering in the air was as calming as any word. Lio went quiet — but didn't fall asleep right away. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, ears twitching. And clutching the blanket that smelled like peace.